


The Meaning of Lonely

by Remington



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Suffering is Fun!, radiation poisoning, traumatic pasts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-20
Updated: 2016-09-11
Packaged: 2018-08-09 21:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7818835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Remington/pseuds/Remington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mei-ling Zhou, after being successfully "defrosted", now has to come to terms with a new world, and an even newer Overwatch. As if the shock of it all isn't enough, Overwatch is desperate for new members to join their not entirely legal ranks, and with so much of their reputation tarnished by the omnic crisis, volunteers are at an all time low.</p><p>Jamison "Junkrat" Fawkes is a worldwide criminal, infamous in every sense of the word. There's not a store he won't rob, a motor he won't jack, or a team of "heroes" he won't be reluctantly recruited into. Though it appears he's left the horrors of his irradiated childhood behind him, nobody really knows if it's pain or madness (or both) that lurks behind those soot-covered eyes.</p><p>With the world now in a new state of chaos and disorder, from omnic rights to the looming threat of Talon waiting to strike, can these two heroes, war-torn in separate but not unequal ways, overcome their differences and work together for a common goal: a world that anyone, no matter what, can be free to live as themselves?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Capella

CHAPTER ONE

_A Capella – To perform alone, without accompaniment._

Freezing.

Chilled hands, blue as the ice around them. A barely rising chest. Icicles laying daintily and dangerously along thick, frozen lashes.

 

And then there was the noise, the hiss of hydraulics as the air of the new world flew to meet her. Her body, wrapped so snugly in woolen sky blue, still shuddered, near violent in its contractions. Now, that chest was rising – no, beating, one quick inhale to follow an exhale. Too quick. Too intense. Too much.

 

A sharp breath and bullet of pain that was the air in her throat. Oxygen calmed her mind. Blood began to pump, and her body, slowly, surely, relaxed on the slick and icy floor.

 

Blood flowing to her brain was more a curse than a blessing. Her contentment laid in being unaware – now, there was too much to know. To see. To _realize_.

 

Those blue hands slammed – _bang, bang, bang_ – against similar glass. A screech, a sob, a prayer of forgiveness. A wish for death. A regret that _she_ was the one to survive.

 

And, finally, a cry, like a newborn, one that had been brought into a cruel, strange, and unfamiliar world.

 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

Mei jolted from sleep, heart pounding to the wildest rhythm. She jerked her head back and forth, unpinned, chocolate swirls of hair drooping and bouncing off her shoulders. The horror of the Antarctic base was replaced with the calm – if not slightly boring – orange walls of the Gibraltar watch point. A small patch of drool decorated the desk that had acted as her impromptu pillow. One teary-eyed glance at the clock told her 6:32 a.m.

 

A deep sigh heaved out from her chest and through her dry lips. Mei ran a hand over her face. The silence grew thicker as she pushed those awful memories out of her mind, repressing them in the process she knew all too well. _Suppress. Ignore. Try to forget, rinse and repeat._

When she was composed enough, Mei grabbed her glasses off the desk, wiped her tears with the back of her arm, and sucked in a deep, calming breath. The edges of sunlight were just now beginning to tickle the morning sky, making her lips quirk. There never was any better remedy for a sleepless night than a gentle morning.

 

Being a natural early bird, Mei knew nobody would question her rising at such a time. With a sneer of disgust, she grabbed her parka and used the inside to mop the lake of drool from the desk. Gross. She briefly wondered if Mercy had any remedy for that. Her confidence in the German doctor had been multiplied ten-fold when she saw her (temporarily) switch McCree’s accent to British just by pressing a few nerves in the back of his neck. How that happened, Mei still never knew. Frankly, she was kind of scared to ask.

 

Her hands seized to a small coffee mug, marked with “World’s Best ~~Boss~~ Climatologist Lady” in Tracer’s erratic handwriting. Even now, Mei couldn’t hold back a small snicker.

 

The trip to the communal kitchen was a short one, thanks to her near photographic memory. Mei, though only being at the watch point for a handful of weeks, had accustomed herself well to the metallic surroundings and beautiful, islandic views. The latter of the situation served to calm the scientist – at least there was one reminder of beauty in this man made menagerie. Nature was the true architect, in her opinion.

 

One refilled cup of coffee later, and Mei was perching on the bar, happily sipping dark roasted love in a cup. A satisfied sigh trickled past her lips.

 

It wasn’t five minutes later that she heard a yawn and a little chirp of surprise. She turned to see a sleepy Tracer enter the kitchen, waving high while running a hand through her impossibly spiky hair. Mei still had not solved the mystery of whether or not she used hair gel – and she doubted if she ever would.

 

“G’mornin’, Mei,” Tracer greeted, her own empty mug in hand. There was a bit of fumbling with the Keurig before she finally popped in a pod of Sumatran and pressed the button. “How’s it?”

 

“I only just woke a few minutes ago myself,” Mei said with a chuckle and another sip of her coffee, “Did you sleep well?”

 

“Right like a baby, love,” Tracer chirped, leaning against the counter, “You?”

 

There was no hesitation in her voice. “I slept just fine.”

 ------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

The briefing room in Gibraltar was, in Mei’s opinion, horribly cramping. Not necessarily that it was small, but the sheer darkness of it, the near absolute lack of natural light made her skin grow goosebumps. Mei had gotten to the point that she could stand these kinds of spaces, but that didn’t mean she enjoyed it.

 

Winston knuckle-walked (something Mei had at first found amusing, but later grew fascinated by) to the head of the meeting table. He grunted awkwardly, scratched his forehead, and sighed. Mei wondered what was weighing so heavily on his shoulders.

 

Gathered at the table were Mercy, McCree, Tracer (who was trying to apparently balance a pen on her button nose), and herself. Winston looked the lot of them over, and for a moment, Mei could see a tinge of regret in those brown irises. Her heart went out for him. In many ways, she considered herself lucky to simply _wake up_ in a world where Overwatch had fallen – the pain of seeing that happen, one by one, friend by friend, must have been excruciating. To see only a handful of their old friends gathered together . . . what a cruel reminder.

 

The moment was gone as soon as it came. Winston coughed. His thick fingers tossed a few files across the table. “I’m sure you all know why I’ve gathered you here.”

 

“Not really, partner,” McCree chimed, grinning from under his hat. Mei wanted to remind him that it was rude to wear that indoors. “Y’ kinda just grunted an’ here we are.”

 

Winston grumbled under his breath, something like “I do _not_ grunt,” then looked up. “For those _uninformed_ , and apparently oblivious, our numbers are lacking. Severely. Too many of our old . . . members,” she heard the pain in his voice, “Have died, left, or switched to the arms of Talon, and we are at a loss. I consider it a miracle that I’m able to gather even you. But this is not enough.”

 

He nodded to the tossed files. “Mercy and I have located newer recruits that show hope for our team. I cannot guarantee their acceptance – contact has been made and they are aware that we would like to hire them, but with Overwatch’s . . . reputation, it’s reasonable that they have their suspicions. There are four possibilities in all – which is why I am sending you in teams to, ah .  . . interview them.”

 

Mercy stood, gathered the files, and began distributing them. She flashed a sweet smile, one that McCree returned with a wink. That smile turned into a scoff and a roll of the eyes.

 

“Here you are, Mei,” Mercy said in that angelic tone. She was always so gentle with the small scientist. “We wish we could let you choose your own teams and subjects, but unfortunately we were pressed for time. I am sorry for that, but surely you will find ways to enjoy it.”

 

“Oh, lookie here!” Tracer said energetically, “Mercy, love, I’m teamed with you!”

 

The blonde giggled lightly. “Yes indeed, Tracer. Ah, Mei, as for you . . . “ Her brows knitted anxiously. Mei blinked, took one look at her file, then huffed.

 

“McCree?”

 

“Well, howdy doodly,” came the cowboy’s laugh. He kicked his legs up to rest on the table only to get promptly swatted off by a frowning Mercy. “Seems like it’s my lucky day, indeed. Pleasure t’ be workin’ with ya again, Miss Mei.”

 

Normally, Mei was able to stand him, but right now her irritation with McCree’s absolute disregard for manners (and _cleanliness_ ) made her clench her jaw. Mei inhaled through her nose, exhaled through her mouth, then flashed him a polite, gentle smile.

 

“That is _Doctor_ Mei to _you_ , “buckaroo”.”

 

 

 


	2. In Libertatum Vocati

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mei and McCree go to find their mysterious duo that they've been hired to recruit. I wonder who will take it worse?

_In Libertatum Vocati_ – to be called into liberty.

 

“In’t this great, Roadie?”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Jus’ you, me, an’ these piles a’ cash money.”

 

“Hm.”

 

“Sure, ain’t as large as our usual drag, yeah, I’ll admit it. But hey, got a noice shot at that copper with one a’ my ‘splosions, so I’m countin’ that as worth more than my weight in gold!”

 

Junkrat paused. How much /did/ he weigh? Huh. Oh well – a question for another day that would never come. The bomb technician stretched his gangly limbs out across the floor of their current hideout. A wild, nearly fanged grin spread across his cheeks. To think that he and Roadhog had just liberated a bank of its ghastly amounts of money, _and gotten away with it_ , still blew his mind.

 

Of course, deep down, Junkrat was hardly surprised. He and Roadie were, after all, master class criminals. A bank or two was just common by-the-by.

 

Still didn’t make it any less exciting, though.

 

The smaller of the duo rolled onto his other side to face the larger. Roadhog was poised (in a loose description of the word) against the wall, plopped to the floor while he observed some of the cash bundles. Junkrat was tempted to do the same, though a nagging question shot to the back of his mind.

 

“Oi,” he started as he sat up, “Roadie, y’ think them group a’ goodies gonna come see us?” He scratched a bit of soot out of his hair. “Shite, what was their names . . . Undersee . . . Aroundlook . . . oh! Overwatch!”

 

That same grin lit up in his brilliance. “Sure hope they don’t. ‘Sides, they gotta be real desperate t’ come lookin’ t’ /us/ fer help. Oi, Roadie, let’s give ‘em a good Aussie welcome if they do come, yeah?” Oh, this would be great! Junkrat’s maniacal giggle filled the room as he wondered just what to give them – there was that new gunpowder he’d been just _ecstatic_ to test, and that schematic he’d drawn up the other night . . . oh, so many options! How would he ever _choose_?

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------

 

“An’ then, y’know, I told ‘em that if he didn’t shut his trapper right then an’ there, well, I’d have t’ give ‘em a good ol’ Texas Jalepeno Salad. Of course, nobody wanted that, so –“

 

“What /is/ a Texas Jalapeno Salad?” Mei scrutinized, brow raised. McCree faltered for half a second before smirking and waving his hand as they walked.

 

“Ah, y’know, it’s, uh, like a, well . . . “ One gloved finger came to scratch his beard, “Y’know, it’s mighty hard t’ explain it t’ an outsider, is all – not that I’m callin’ ya anythin’, now! Except for easy on the eyes.” Another wink. Mei rolled her eyes and scoffed.

 

“McCree, I have told you that I’m not-“ Mei stopped herself, sighed, then shook her head. There would be no use in pressing her point further – it was obvious the flirtatious cowboy wouldn’t allow anything to stand in the way of his annoyance. Instead, the scientist rubbed two gloved fingers to her temple, grumbled under her breath, then looked back up.

 

King’s Row was an . . .  interesting, place. While the central area – namely the town square, fancier houses, governmental buildings – was cobblestoned and posh as could be, the further and further south they went, the more the aura seemed to . . . downgrade. Where there used to be tall mansions and climbing ivy, there was now sideways shacks and poor excuses for even a doghouse. Mei simultaneously wrinkled her nose and felt her heart sink in pity for the people here.

 

Out of habit, she checked her file again. Mei’s lips pursed in confusion. “McCree,” she started, “I have never heard of Jamison Fawkes, or Mako Rutledge. Who are these two?”

 

“Well . . . “ McCree started, chewing on his lips. “They’re, uh – not necessarily nice folk, y’see . . . “

 

“What’s that mean?”

 

“Well, ya wouldn’t like it much if y’knew, so maybe it’s best if ya just, well . . . don’t.”

 

“McCree, I am not a _child_. What is it?”

 

They turned a corner just as McCree bit back his anxiety. “They’re, well . . . they’re just-“

 

“We’re just _what_ , mate?”

 

McCree let out a screech he would never admit to later, jumping back behind the frowning Mei. For a split second, she was bewildered by the sight of the . . . _whatever_ he was, grinning shamelessly at them as if he’d won the gold medal. He was tall, yet slouched, probably because of his poor choice in prosthetic legs. His hair, blonde but smoking because of a reason Mei, once again, didn’t want to know, continued to smolder as he spoke.

 

“Oi, what’s crawlin’ up his shimmers, eh?” Then came the most maniacal laugh Mei thought she’d ever heard, high pitched and shrill as a witch. It made her clutch her climate gun tighter. “Lookit that, little girl thinks she can stop us with ‘er water gun! How’s that?” And another giggle.

 

Mei didn’t want to believe it, didn’t want to even suspect it, but paired with McCree’s earlier words and their introductions, only one conclusion could be made.

 

“Jamison Fawkes . . . “ she muttered, half disbelief and half disgust. Jamison stopped laughing and almost seemed a bit pouty.

 

“Oi, now why’s she usin’ the proper title an’ all that?” His soot-encrusted fingers scratched his head, “It’s _Junkrat_ , Sheila, y’ ain’t got the right t’ be callin’ me by that!”

 

A few more moments passed, surrounded by complete, absolute silence. In it, Mei’s jaw was slack, promptly hanging to her toes in an expression of utter, outright shock. It would have been comical, if not for the fire of disgust that burned in her eyes once she regained her senses.

 

“McCree . . . “ she muttered, lip curled, “Are you telling me . . . “

 

“Now, listen, darlin’, I never said that-“

 

“We are hiring _criminals_?!”

 

McCree gulped and help up his hands. Mei growled.

 

“You . . . “ Mei whirled back around to Junkrat who mirrored McCree’s position, “You think Overwatch is- is going to hire _Neanderthals_ like you? I’ve seen what you do in the papers, _Junkrat_ \- I just, I just- ooh!” A less than terrifying yelp of frustration exited her lips. Mei stomped. “This is supposed to be a _heroes_ organization! We save the world! Name one good thing these ingrates have done for society!”

 

“Now that’s a lil’ harsh there, Sheila . . . “ Junkrat muttered, only to get a face full of ice gun.

 

“Not one _word_ out of you,” she said.

 

“B-But y’ asked us!”

 

“No I didn’t!”

 

“I think y’ right well did, Sheila!”

 

“My name is not SHEILA!”

 

“IT’S A FIGURE A’ BLOODY SPEECH!”

 

A deep, long, frustrated growl left Mei’s lips. She clenched her jaw. Her finger twitched on the trigger. Junkrat glared at her with pure distrust, though his hands were still up in defense. Who knew what that thing could do?

 

“Now, listen, Mi- er, Doctor, Mei,” McCree mumbled, ever the negotiator, “We were kinda sent to _recruit_ these, er, gentleman, and ya ain’t doin’ too good a job a’ sellin’ our stuff, if ya catch my drift-“

 

“I don’t want to _sell_ anything to them! I refuse to hire them!” Mei shouted. Now, McCree looked stern. Not necessarily angry, no, but there was a glimmer in the cowboy’s eyes that unmistakably rang as impatience. He sauntered up to fearless Mei, thumbs looped in his belt buckle. It took one second for his tall, lean figure to tower over her, brown eyes locked to one another.

 

“Zhou,” he said lowly, “Now, I’ve tried t’ be forgivin’ with y’ on this mission, considerin’ yer background an’ what have ya,” one hand tipped his hat back, “But ya weren’t just put with me fer the sake a’ yer annoyance. Don’t you be forgettin’, now, which one of us had to _watch_ that “heroes” organization go tumblin’ to the ground.” There was a flash of regret when McCree saw Mei’s face fall and her grip falter, but he continued. “We ain’t what we used t’ be. If ya wanna help rebuild us t’ our former glory, _Doctor_ , then we _need_ the help a’ outlaws like these two. Hell, ya ain’t pointin’ that thingamajig at me, an’ I was just like them.”

 

The small woman was now frozen in an entirely different context. It took a while, but Mei’s arm slowly, very slowly, lowered the gun from Junkrat’s face, who sighed in relief, muttering a “coulda done that a lil’ sooner, mate”.

 

“Apologies,” Mei muttered reluctantly, frowning. She looked almost like a guilty child, caught badmouthing a family friend. Junkrat shrugged, still wary of her.

 

“Ain’t no problem, she- er, uh, Doctor,” he sniffed, “Ain’t like it never happened before.”

 

Before Mei could question him, McCree stepped in to keep the situation from escalating any higher. “Now,” he began, twirling an unlit cigar in his fingers, “Try to ignore the welcome that missy back here gave ya, an’ keep in mind that we’re still open t’ a business proposition. Basic job – y’ get paid fer yer loyalty t’ us. Y’ fellas know how it works. An’ lemme tell ya, former outlaw to outlaw, it’s a hell of a lot better than sleepin’ in hideouts or filthy streets.”

 

Junkrat mulled this over. His ridiculously long tongue stroked out to lick his lower lip in concentration, something Mei was openly repulsed by. “Hmm . . . I dunno. Roadie, get over here! I don’t make any deals without ‘im.”

 

Around the corner came a bumbling (more like _pounding_ , Mei thought) figure, larger than any word could describe. Mei openly gaped, eyes traveling over the mere _bulk_ of the man. His stomach was so impossibly round that she briefly wondered if he’d hid bodies in there before. The tattoos weren’t even the most terrifying part, but rather that _mask_ , the one that hid his face from the world like he really _was_ some sort of terrifying monster. Mei almost grabbed McCree for comfort, but kept a steely expression best she could.

 

“Roadie,” Junkrat continued, apparently ignorant of Mei’s pure terror, “These are th’ people wantin’ t’ ‘ire us. Dunno, they seem a pretty average lot, save for the Sheila over there that tried t’ lop me head off earlier. What do ya think?”

 

Roadhog breathed heavily through his mask. His massive hand scratched the underside of his tattooed belly. Then, he turned to Mei, took three heavy, mortifying steps closer to her, and stared down with that empty, leather gaze.

 

“Tried t’ kill Junkrat?” he growled. Mei had to actually clear her throat before talking. She stood tall, raised her chin, and did her best to hide the fact that she was shaking in her boots.

 

“Y-Yes, I pointed my gun at him,” she answered, wondering where his eyes really were, “What’s it to you?”

 

A horrifying pause, and then deep, short laughter, Roadhog’s belly bouncing with each beat. Junkrat scoffed in the background.

 

“Oi, mate, yer my bodyguard, the hell are ya doin’ _laughin_ ’?”

 

Roadhog clasped a hand to Mei’s shoulder. “You’ll do. We’ll take the job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I love reviews!


	3. Contra Naturam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for Jamison to earn his keep as a full member of Overwatch, but Mei isn't nearly as happy with his job opportunity. Also, make sure you have consent to nickname someone, folks.

_Contra Naturam –_ To go against one’s nature.

 

“Aw, c’mon, Sheila, y’don’t gotta be like that!”

 

“I will _be_ however I want to be, especially, when you cover my room in flammable sparklers!”

 

“It was meant t’be a celebration!”

 

“Of WHAT?”

 

“Y’know,” Junkrat rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish grin returning, “Teammates, comradery an’ whatnot! Thought a lil’ housewarmin’ gift would lift yer sour feelin’s ‘bout me!”

 

Mei couldn’t believe this. Her jaw hung, eyes wide in furious disbelief. “You set. My room. On fire.”

 

“For friendship!”

 

“I . . . I don’t . . . “ Mei shook her head. This couldn’t be real. This /couldn’t/ be real. There was no way this junker was that inept, that socially stunted that he was serious. This had to be a joke, right? Some big prank on Mei, the girl who’s literally in the wrong time? That had to be the only, the ONLY explanation for this _idiot’s_ absolute, pure stupidity.

 

“AARGH!” she finally growled, shaking her clenched fists. “Why- why are you _like_ this?”

 

Before Junkrat could even defend himself, Mei stomped off, the confused, smoking man left in her angry wake.

 

\--------------------------------------------------- 

 

“So . . . “ McCree drawled, swishing a glass of whiskey idly around, “Tell me again how y’ pissed ‘er off?”

 

“That’s just the bloody thing, mate,” Junkrat downed another gulp of his milk tea, “I dunno! I mean, gave ‘er a proper Aussie junker welcome an’ all that – even went to the trouble a’ lightin’ her room all pretty! Mighty delicate work, for meself, I’d say so indeed,” And down went another sip, followed by a gentlemanly belch, “An’ what’s she do the first thing she sees it? Bloody snaps me head off!”

 

He grumbled and shook his head while McCree continued swishing his whiskey. He hadn’t actually drank a sip the entire time, and Junkrat wondered if he was just doing it for show. Finally, the cowboy took a long, long sigh, tipping his hat backwards so the bomb maker could see the tiredness in those brown irises.

 

“Listen, partner,” McCree started, somewhat cautiously, “Women here . . . well, they prolly’ ain’t what yer used to in yer parts. Just sayin’. An’ Mei, well, she’s definitely an outsider all on her own.” For a second, McCree actually looked almost downtrodden, eyes lost in a distant memory. “Used t’ look up t’ her as a mentor. Kinda strange, now, bein’ nearly her senior.”

 

“The bloody hell’s that mean?” Junkrat tilted his head. McCree cleared his throat and looked up.

 

“ ‘Nother story for ‘nother time, partner. Point is, try bein’ a lil’ less . . . explodey, ‘round her. She might, heh, “warm” up t’ ya then. I’ve got some stuff t’ take care of.”

 

McCree tipped his hat down, flipped his cape, then waltzed out of the staff kitchen. Junkrat felt even more confused than before. His wild brows furrowed. Be a little _less_ explodey? He was a junker, not a fucking wizard. If the special little snowflake girlie didn’t like his way of welcoming, then by god, he just wouldn’t welcome her. Heh, that was a good name for her – snowflake. Fit right, for a girl who thought she was just so special, so unique, so above everyone else that she couldn’t even appreciate a gift of _friendship_.

 

Satisfied at his naming skills, Junkrat sipped the last of his tea and giggled. Some bonds just weren’t meant to form. He was used to that, really, being where he was from. If she wanted to run from the _very_ beneficial friendship of a certain Jamison Fawkes, then who was he to stop her? Sure, he’d always made it his policy to get along with his coworkers best as possible. Sure, he’d been slightly stung when the pretty girl wouldn’t even look him in the eye.

 

But none of that really mattered, anyways.

 

The rest of the team (which was just McCree and Winston at the moment) liked him just fine. He could deal with that. Frankly, Junkrat had the feeling that the little snowflake had probably never even _experienced_ isolation – it would be her funeral should she rebel from her friends.

 

With that, a happy chuckle and a little pep in his step Junkrat headed out the kitchen as well.

 

\------------------------------------------------------- 

 

“I regret that the first briefing for our two new . . . teammates, must be so short, but we’re still pressed for time.” Winston shifted his glasses, warily eyeing the duo sitting (surprisingly) silent on the right of the table. That is, until Junkrat raised his hand like a child in a classroom.

 

Winston sighed. “Yes, Junkrat?”

 

“Oi, mate, y’ really need them things t’ see? Thought chimpanzees were ‘sposed t’ be like, better equipped in the nature department,” Junkrat called, that trademark wild grin spread wide across his sooty cheeks. Without Mercy or Tracer, it was up to Winston to restrain himself from launching the boy halfway across the meeting room. Thick, hairy fingers clutched tighter into the dossier.

 

“Junkrat, for the last time, I am _not_ a-“

 

“You should learn some manners,” Mei hissed venomously, “He is a _gorilla_ , or do you not have those in Australia?”

 

“Well, snowflake, we actually don’t, so-“

 

“It doesn’t _matter_ if you don’t, the point is – wait, what did you just call me?”

 

Mei’s wide-eyed, blinking gaze shifted to a glare in two seconds flat. “Is- Is that supposed to be a joke?”

 

Now, Junkrat’s grin was teasing, especially as he leaned across the table and rested his chin on his mechanical arm, “I ‘unno, snowflake, I consider meself a right serious fellow, that I do. Think it’s a perfect fit for ya – don’t y’ agree, Roadie?”

 

The only response Junkrat got was Roadhog’s grunted “Yeah” before the potbellied man went back to delicately sipping a cup of tea. Junkrat nodded affirmatively.

 

“See? Even Roadie agrees. Perfect fit.”

 

“That is – That is not a perfect fit! It’s not any kind of fit! First you blow up my room, then you’re calling me _names_?” Mei’s cheeks lit fiery red with frustration. “Do you really expect to be taken seriously when you are acting like a _child_?”

 

“Look ‘round, Sheila,” Junkrat kicked his legs on the table and leaned back, “Seems like the only one not takin’ me “seriously” is _you_. What’s that y’ said ‘bout bein’ childish, eh?” This triggered a loud laugh and snort from the blonde, smoked tips polluting the air in which he bobbed his head. “Oi, Oi, Roadie, wasn’t that a good one, yeah? Oooh, jus’ lookit’ her face! All red like a firecracker!”

 

Indeed, Mei’s face was burning crimson, jaw clenched as well as her fists. Before she could escalate the situation by uttering a word Winston could read on her lips, he gave a mighty cough, and slammed the dossier down on the table.

 

“If _both_ of you children are done _arguing_ ,” he growled, earning a shameful, but still angry look from Mei and a shrug from Junkrat, “Then I would _like_ to cover our mission. Tracer and Mercy are still out for their subjects, so unfortunately, we’re a little short staffed.” He coughed lightly and pretended the atmosphere wasn’t thick enough to suffocate. “A small group of Talon terrorists were seen by our contacts setting up base in the poorer side of Ilios, a small dock section called La Agua de Azul. It’s not a hard job, especially for you four. I expect in, out, no fancy tricks and no making scenes.”

 

“Yessir,” McCree nodded. Mei nodded along, while Junkrat looked like he was planning something villainous. Maybe that was just his face.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

The ride to Ilios was a long one.

 

Mei never liked the Overwatch travel ships – too metallic, too inhuman, too fake. She remembered, all those years ago when she’d first joined, her absolute denial to fly thousands of miles in the air in one of those _contraptions_. But, even she would admit it had its uses, especially the cloaking devices.

 

The only change, the only _minor_ modification she’d ever make, though, would be the seating. After all, was there really, _really_ a need to put those roller-coaster-esque hell benches so close, so _damn_ close to one another? Was there? Really?

 

“Ain’t never rode in one a’ these before,” Junkrat squealed, bouncing his legs excitedly. It reminded Mei somewhat of a little boy on his first plane, and would have been cute, if not for the default murderous glare in his eyes. “Watcha’ think, snowflake? Ain’t it good fun? Can’t even get this high with one a’ me bombs on me feet!”

 

“Please stop calling me that,” she said through gritted teeth. Junkrat giggled.

 

“Nah,” he said, “Really, y’ should be honored. It ain’t every day a Junker gives a non-Junker a nickname. But it just _fit_ ya so well!”

 

“And I’m sure an ice bullet would fit you just perfectly, but I know some self-restraint.”

 

Wait, was that . . . ?

 

No word came from the junker, save for a gulp and shudder. Mei had to hold back a smirk.

 

That shut him up.

 

The rest of the ride went in peaceful, wonderful silence, with Mei practically growing flowers from her chipper mood. Junkrat, meanwhile, was ooched away from her as far as the tightly compressed seats would allow, apprehension in his eyes and fear in the bite of his lip.

 

When the ship finally landed and their restraints lifted, Mei wasted no time in readying her gun. She checked the cryo chamber, cocked the loader, and started running diagnostics while Snowball flitted around her, beeping this and that. Mei nodded as if she understood him, and then shot a test bullet into one of the basketballs. It pierced clean through.

 

That, combined with the steely look of determination on her face and her ridiculous amounts of winter wear for the Spanish nights, Junkrat couldn’t deny a shiver up his spine. It didn’t feel all bad.

 

“Gosh, snowflake, ‘get cold just lookin’ at ya,” he muttered, smirking. Mei glared him down.

 

“Then maybe you should look somewhere _else_.”

 

Before Junkrat could challenge the small brunette to a proper fisticuffs, McCree stepped between them, hands out.

 

“Now now,” he drawled, cigarette dangling, “Let’s remember why we’re here. Go in, knock ‘em down, get out. Don’t y’all be forgettin’ who’s the real enemy here.”

 

“I know, I know . . .” Junkrat murmured, while Mei just scoffed and turned up her nose. A rude finger gesture was flashed her way before the door opened and the team departed.

 

\------------------------------------------------------------- 

 

The streets were too quiet.

 

Mei’s gun was pointed skyward the entire walk, her finger itching to shoot at anything that moved. Her nerves sat on edge. Nothing should be this quiet. Wasn’t there supposed to be an entire /group/ of terrorists?

 

“Oi, is it just me, or is this place too bloody peaceful?” Junkrat whispered, then grinned, “Let’s cause a lil’ mayhem-“

 

“No, no, we’re not doing that,” Mei shoved down the arm that was about to throw a bomb. “Just stay on your toes, or your, er . . . “ Mei eyed his feet, “Peg.”

 

It wasn’t three more steps that they took through the Ilios alleyways before an armored gunman leaped out from one of the crevices. McCree acted first, drawing his Peacekeeper and eliminating him with no other words. From one man’s death spawned the rest of the terrorists, all armed to the teeth and descending from rooftops and alleys alike.

 

“An ambush!” Mei exclaimed as Roadhog hooked one of the men to their death. McCree scoffed, shooting off one more.

 

“Y’don’t damn well say - ah, shit – Mei, they’ve got a sniper up top. Think y’ can spring ‘em off with one a’ yer walls?”

 

Mei dodged a shot just in time and pierced the soldier with an icicle. “I have to see the ground to make it! They’re too high! And I can’t propel myself up to that height, either.”

 

“I’ve got y’ there, snowflake!” Junkrat called, breaking from his barrage of bombs to toss a suspicious looking red button to the ground. “Y’ wanna be getting’ up there, do ya?”

 

“Wait, what is that-“ Mei had no time to question before a maniacal giggle sounded and a filthy hand shoved her forward. The second her foot landed on the bomb, her body shot up to the heavens, Mei’s screams filling the skies with soprano-like terror.

 

“I HATE YOU JUNKRAT!” she yelled. His idea had worked, though – the sniper, unaware of the soaring scientist above him, readied for another shot. Mei could do better than an ice wall, she thought – with her sharp aim, she sent a frozen bullet straight into the back of his skull. He collapsed on the spot just as her arc began its descent.

 

“Woo!” Junkrat cheered, “So yer useful fer somethin’ after all, Snowflake! Figure that!”

 

“JuuuuuuNNNKRAAAAT!” Mei screamed, arms flailing. “The ground, the GROUND!”

 

“Oi, what’s she shriekin’ ‘bout up there?” Junkrat muttered to Roadhog after the last of the baddies collapsed. He rubbed his chin, “She sayin’ me name, or . . . “

 

“Listen partner, we ain’t all made a’ irradiated calcium an’ I’m pretty sure she realizes she’ll crinkle like an ex’s love letter if she lands on that cobblestone,” McCree snapped, eyes wide in worry. Shit, even he couldn’t run far enough to catch her!

 

“Oh, is that all it is?” Junkrat said, rolling his eyes. He threw down another bomb. “Alright, alright – lookout Sheila, here comes yer hero!”

 

With a “yee hee hee!” Junkrat soared off, intercepting Mei’s fall just in time to secure her in his arms. He landed with practiced ease and held Mei tighter to his sooty, strong body.

 

“Right excitin’ that was, wasn’t it, snowflake?” Junkrat sniggered, “Y’ were _really_ fallin’ like a snowflake there, that y’ were, though wouldn’t say nearly as graceful what with all a’ that screamin’ an’ hollerin’ ‘bout-“

 

“Junkrat, lookout!”

 

One lone gunman propelled a bullet straight for Junkrat’s cranium. Mei’s ice wall shot up in defense, blocking the projectile easily while McCree took care of the enemy. She breathed a sigh of relief.

 

“That was a close one . . . “ Mei muttered softly. Junkrat was oddly quiet, and when she looked up, she _swore_ she saw hints of red beneath all that grime.

 

“Oi, uh, Sheila, your, um . . . “ His eyes were trained on her head, yet not her eyes. Mei furrowed her brows before she realized a little fact – her pin had fallen, leaving those chocolate curls to swirl around her shoulders.

 

“Oh, drat,” she murmured, shifting out from his grip, “It fell out. I’ll just get a new one.”

 

Junkrat, apparently shaken from his hair-based reverie, coughed and put his hands on his hips. Mei turned, shooting him an expression of half disdain, half confusion.

 

“ _What_?”

 

“The hell d’ya mean, _what_?” Junkrat spluttered, “Dunno ‘bout you, snowflake, but I raised meself with manners, that I did, an’ that means thankin’ somebody when they’ve bloody gone an’ saved ya life!”

 

“You call _that_ saving my- well, yes, you did, technically . . . “ shit, she couldn’t find a good argument to that. Mei didn’t want to lower herself to actually _thanking_ him, though she knew she should. It made her chest clench and her heart tighten in irritation at just the thought.

 

“Thank . . .  ugh, thank yo-“

 

The wall crumbled to reveal McCree and Roadhog, both looking impatient to be back on the ship. “Well, job’s done,” McCree said, twirling his gun back into its holster, “We outta here, or is there a sudden urge t’ watch the sunset? C’mon now.”

 

His gloved fingers motioned to follow while he trudged back to the loading ship. Mei promptly followed, ignoring Junkrat’s “what ‘bout me thanks?”

 

Mission accomplished . . . sort of.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay! This one was a lot longer than I planned, but honestly I'm trying to get my length out more and more. Also, a little question to y'all - I'm thinking of bringing in ONE of my side ships to be a little fun subplot when we need a break from Fire and Ice over here (as if my shipping ass ever needs a break). There's two choices - Lucio and D.va, or McCree and Hanzo. Any preferences? Please review!


	4. Malum sed mulliere, sed neccessarium malum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Junkrat gets a cold, so who better to treat it than the Ice Queen herself?

_Malum sed mulliere, sed neccessarium malum_ – Women are evil, a necessary evil.

 

It started with a cough.

 

Combined with the stress of her current situation and the general lack of attention or pleasure she paid him, Mei didn’t notice Junkrat’s odd . . . happenings. Nor did the rest of the current Overwatch members.

 

From a cough, came a sneeze.

 

Once, twice, three times in a row. By the third, Mei would be annoyed enough that she’d look up from her tinkering on Snowball to bark at the Junker to grab a tissue, but by then, Junkrat was already distracted by his newest bomb. It wasn’t worth re-directing his attention to her.

 

And then, it got worse.

 

By the end of the week, Junkrat was a sniveling, coughing mess, enough to give even Roadhog at least a five foot berth wherever he walked. The threat of a common cold or fever may have been minimal, but if it meant being put out of commission, nobody was quite so keen on contracting it. Especially Mei, who had _never_ been so eager to work out her frustration with her new “teammate” on the field.

 

“A- _choo_!” Came Junkrat’s holler, promptly before he sniffed and wiped his sooty finger across his equally sooty nose. Mei rolled her eyes.

 

“Would you _please_ use a tissue?” she grumbled, tightening a bolt, “Don’t litter the shop with your irradiated snot.”

 

“Oi, snowflake,” Junkrat said, “Id nod my fauld dat I’m a’ geddin’ stuffy! Mind yer own damn business!”

 

“ _Ugh_ ,” she shot back, giving up her concentration and whirling on her stool, “Though your commitment to the field may be lackluster, Junkrat, _some_ of us don’t want to be contaminated by your very – ugh – existence!”

 

“Well, would y’ listen t’ dat!” Junkrat whirled, hands on his hips, “I sneeze dree bloody dimes, an’ the Shiela dinks I’m tryin’ t’ “contaminate” her! I can’t control it!”

 

“You can control being in the same room!”

 

“I’ve as much a bloody right t’ be here as ya, sick or not!”

 

“Yes, but I don’t like it!”

 

“And she calls _me_ childish!” Junkrat shook his head. “De lack of appreciation I get here, honestly . . .”

 

Mei grumbled. She knew she wasn’t exactly in the right to demand he just _leave_ , but her patience was growing ever thin. Especially with the memory of being _blown sky fucking high_ on their last mission, it was reasonable that her irritation with Junkrat was . . . not necessarily minimal. Like right now, with her hands balled into such tight fists that the circulation in her knuckles was failing her.

 

Junkrat glared back. It took about five seconds of the stare-off before Mei “humphed” and marched out, unrepaired Snowball in hand.

 

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

“Heya, Junkster,” McCree called, plopping on the lounge couch (somewhat) next to Junkrat. “Y’ seem t’ be sportin’ a mighty harsh cold there.”

 

“Ugh, y’ can say dat again,” Junkrat grumbled, one hand to his forehead, “Dink I have m’self a fever or somedin’.”

 

McCree whistled lowly. “Ain’t y’ always drinkin’ that milk tea nonsense? Thought that was supposed to prevent colds?”

 

“It’s milk tea, not bloody tonic,” Junkrat chuckled, “Sides, maybe I just got it from bein’ ‘round miss Ice Queen too much lately.”

 

“Ice Q- oh, Mei.” McCree chuckled and crossed one leg over the other. “How y’ two been getting’ along lately? Seems like you’ve been a bit more, uh . . . “ he struggled for the right word, “Comfortable?”

 

Junkrat barked out a laugh, which lead to another harsh fit of coughing. After he was finished promptly hacking out his lungs, the Junker looked up, small tears in the corner of his eyes. “Well, gotta commend ya’ on yer choice a’ words,” he said, grinning wildly, “Snowflake’s comin’ round t’ like me, I’m sure a’ it. If, y’know, “like” means t’ despise entirely.”

 

McCree chuckled in response and shifted his hat back. “Hey, can’t win everybody, can ya?”

 

“Nah, but I’d damn sure like t’.” Junkrat paused, before straightening at McCree’s raised eyebrows. “Oi, mate, it ain’t like dat! Just mean dat I wouldn’t mind bein’ friends with the Sheila, is all. I mean, she seems t’ like all a’ you just dandy, even Roadie a bit, but me . . . “

 

“Y’ did kinda blow her over a building.”

 

“But she got the bugger _an’_ I saved her in the end! Don’t get what she’s so wound up about.” Junkrat’s arms crossed grumpily. “Don’t matter anyway. If snowflake wants t’ be actin’ like a shrimp, then I’m hardly one t’ stop ‘er.”

 

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

By the middle of the next week, Junkrat couldn’t even make it to the meeting tables. Anyone who knew of his whereabouts knew he was practically writhing in his bed, all the contents of his stomach emptied down the plumbing tubes of Gibraltar toilets. He was a sweating, coughing mess, enough to even have the resident “Ice Queen” herself shifting in worry.

 

“Wonder if he’s alright . . . “ McCree mumbled at the meeting table. The only Junker present was Roadhog, who took a break from his comically tiny teacup to address the group.

 

“Junkers ain’t got immune systems for this weather,” he grumbled, “Don’t really have “colds” in the outback.”

 

“So you’re saying he could _die_ from this?” Mei exclaimed, eyes wide. McCree was slightly taken aback with her worry, but chose not to comment. Roadhog nodded gravely, the slouch in his massive shoulders unmistakable.

 

“He ain’t used t’ it,” Roadhog continued, “And neither is his body.”

 

“ . . . “ A collective silence grew from Mei and McCree. They looked at each other, paused, before Mei shot up with a tense jaw.

 

“This isn’t going to happen,” she murmured angrily, while Snowball flitted playfully around her shoulders, “Where’s his room?”

 

“Down the hall, two doors to the left,” Roadhog answered. Mei started her march, mumbling “Can’t even handle a cold, how _pathetic_ ” and the like. When she was finally out of earshot, McCree looked towards the massive pig man, brows high in surprise. He opened his mouth only to be cut off by the object of his viewing.

 

“He’s gonna be fine,” Roadhog assured. McCree gawked.

 

“B-But y’ said he-“

 

“The fuck kinda people don’t get _colds_?” He chortled, “This is a bonding moment for ‘em. Let her be worried.”

 

“ . . .  Y’ sneaky pig, you.”

 

“ _Hog_ , and yeah. It’s a skill.”

 

\----------------------------------------------------- 

 

“Jamison Fawkes!” Mei announced, bursting inside. Junkrat jumped from his covers and yanked them to his chin, then paused to hack his lungs out in response. Mei practically pounded to his bedside and pulled out a thermometer, before sticking it between his shocked lips.

 

“Don’t squirm, or I choke you with it,” Mei commanded in his physical protest. He gulped and stayed still while it beeped an answer. The brunette pulled it away, blinked, and let her lips drop in shock.

 

“105?” she exclaimed, heart practically stopped, “How in the world are you still- just, hold on. Move one muscle and your new prosthetic is an icicle.”

 

Mei shot from the room just as quickly as she came in. Junkrat waited in more shock than patience, wide eyes trained to the open door that marked her absence.

 

It was ten minutes before Mei returned, a bowl of steaming broth in one hand and a spoon in the other. She placed it in his lap, then sat on the edge of the bed.

 

“ _Eat it_ ,” she commanded, brown eyes narrowed and jaw set. Junkrat had never felt less of an appetite before in his life.

 

 . . . But still, with that steely ( _Icy,_ he reminded himself) glare and the absolute determination that warmed her freezing aura, Mei was certainly a sight to behold. Junkrat felt a small smile tug at te corner of his chapped lips, before he sighed, took the broth and spoon, and brought a careful sip to his mouth.

 

His eyes snapped open. “Christ alive, Snowflake, dis is incredible! Y’ some kinda master chef or somedin’?”

 

Mei’s brows lowered. “It’s microwaveable.”

 

“ . . . Oh.” Junkrat looked down, then shrugged. “Well, rest a’ me is crawlin’ in radiation. Might as well be in me food too!”

 

Junkrat continued to spend the next few minutes sipping his soup with surprising grace, back straight and even blowing on it before everything. Mei didn’t think she’d ever seen – no, ever _imagined_ the Junker looking this . . .  proper. Besides the soot on his skin and singed hair, of course.

 

Even with all that grace, though, he was done in record time. Mei sighed quietly when he set the bowl on the night stand, only to hitch her breath at the most miniscule shiver that crawled up his skin.

 

Mere seconds later Mei was stripping her parka, leaning within a breath’s distance of Junkrat to wrap it around his shoulders. The image was comical – a sooty, grimy Australian urchin wrapped snugly in a pristine white and blue coat. If Mei weren’t so annoyed, she might have laughed.

 

Another moment of silence passed. Junkrat seemed to be actually contemplating something, wild brows furrowed and lips tight. He finally opened his mouth to speak.

 

“ . . . Say, Sheila-“

 

“I don’t want another teammate to die.”

 

“W-What?” Junkrat frowned, “Oi, I didn’t even bloody say anydin’! Y’ cut me off- wait, another?”

 

Mei wasn’t looking at him now – she was staring at the blank orange wall, though Junkrat suspected her eyes were seeing far, far more. He’d never seen her without her parka on – there was always the assumption that she’d be soft and squishy underneath, and indeed she was, but there was unmistakable muscle beneath that soft, pearly skin. Her form fell in curves, of her chest (he didn’t let his eyes linger _too_ long for fear of another beating), the chubby handles on her stomach, to the curve of her hips and thighs that sank into the thick mattress. He felt his lips part in what might have been shock or unspoken question – she was, of course, beautiful.

 

Junkrat had always defined beauty simply. If he liked it, it was beautiful. He liked explosions and fire, therefore they were beautiful. He may not have liked a lot about Mei, but even he wouldn’t insult nature by denying the allure of her small, round, delicate and yet not so body. That small pull of his lips increased, but for the sake of the situation, he forced it down.

 

Hey, he had _some_ class.

 

“You were going to ask me why I’m taking care of you,” Mei finally continued, snapping Junkrat from his thoughts, “And that’s my answer. I may think you still have no place with us, but for now, you are my teammate. And so long as that lasts . . . “ out went a sigh from her pink lips, “I want you to be in as perfect health as possible.”

 

Junkrat was quiet. Not out of respect, but rather frustration – with himself. He’d coded her all wrong, dammit; how could he have thought she didn’t know loneliness when she had that look in her eye? How could he have thought she was unreasonably childish when her gaze went farther than even the island they were living on?

 

“ . . . Y’said anoder,” Junkrat finally spoke, voice soft. “I ain’t de best listener, snowflake, but us Junkers are a lil’ sympadetic t’ dead ourselves. Might be best t’ get it off ya chest.”

 

Mei’s shock at his offer made Junkrat instantly regret his words. Damn it all – and the moment was so nice, too! Why’d he have to go and ruin it by demanding she out her problems to him?

 

But more surprises were in store, it seemed, as Mei didn’t react with outright anger to fury. Instead, she just sighed again, stood, and rubbed the back of her neck.

 

“Maybe another time, Junkrat,” she said, hardly sounding like herself, “When it’s something I want to remember.”

 

Mei straightened and looked at him. “I expect that parka washed when you give it back to me. If you don’t know how, just as Winston. Don’t ask McCree.” Seemingly in a hurry to leave, Mei marched to the door, then paused, and turned back. “Junkrat?” she said, a little softer, “Get better soon. We hired you for a reason.”

 

And with that, she left.

 

Junkrat couldn’t help it – he felt a smile grow larger and larger on his sooty cheeks. His hands clutched the parka, staining it with grey and black as he pulled it tighter around his shoulders. It smelled like coconut and cucumber, with the slightest hint of jasmine. Junkrat thought that was a very, very nice scent indeed.

 

Maybe he should get sick more often.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SO SORRY!! Seriously, guys, this shouldn't have taken two weeks. A lot of stuff happened - college work, breakups, and just a lot of drama. But it's all good now! If you have suggestions or ideas for the story (no major plot twists, but little scenes and whatnot are fine!), feel free to message me at my tumblr: radish-al.tumblr.com! Thanks for reading, please review!


End file.
